


End of Shift

by cathouse_mary



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Drabble Sequence, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-10
Updated: 2011-12-10
Packaged: 2017-10-27 04:11:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathouse_mary/pseuds/cathouse_mary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Very early Eric/Alan four drabbles in sequence.</p><p>Wordcount as per Word, not Ao3</p>
            </blockquote>





	End of Shift

There’s not much more to do on this shift than huddle out of the weather, waiting for it to decide if it’s going to rain or snow. At some point in the small hours of the morning, it settles of freezing rain - causing the normal reaper-roosts to become treacherous or untenable.

Eric’s found a ledge with no ice and some protection from the weather, and waits there for Alan to finish a last collection before dawn. He doesn’t think anyone’s going to want to party tonight, all of them will most likely just want to get warm and dry.

 

Alan can smell Eric’s Karams, the clove-spiced tobacco has a distinct connotation for him now – as much as he hates smoking tobacco. The smell of Karams means Eric, and warmth, and warm… thoughts. They have become most unexpectedly fond of one other.

And if Alan’s blushing, he’s glad of the warmth. The last collection did not go as planned – he and Grell ended up having a surprise swim.

“Eric?”

“Over here.” The tip of a cigarette flares red in the shadows. “Where’s Red? And what in hell happened to you?”

Alan’s teeth do chatter this time. “Punting without a boat?”

 

Alan’s soaked to the skin, half-frozen and making jokes about it. The next time Eric complains about the cold, he’s going to punch himself in the head.

“Fuckssake.” He really doesn’t think about it, wrapping Alan in his own dry overcoat. “Where’s Senior?”

“We hit the bridge on the way down – Grell’s going to be a couple of days mending a busted head.”

“Again. What the hell happened?” Fishing his flask out of his back pocket, he unscrews the top and holds it to Alan’s lips. “Two shots of this first, or you’re going to catch everything within a mile.”

 

The whisky is warm, the smoky taste of it burning down to Alan’s belly.

“Demonic interference. The Hellbeast was starving and decided we were meatier than the contract.” With no small amount of pride he adds, “I reaped it.”

“Brilliant!” Eric looks impressed for the first time since he’s been Alan’s mentor. “Can you step over?”

Alan tries to still his thoughts, seeking to find passage from the human realm to home. However his mind is insistently focused on COLD and WET and WHAT’S THAT IN MY SHOE. He shakes his head, wrapping himself more tightly in Eric’s body-warm coat.


End file.
